Time for Talking

That question answered, I hit the 'call' button on the cell.  After a brief moment to make sure it was running, the 'mute' button came next.  Silently I thanked Mr. Codgrass for running so many long, boring meetings that I'd learned to work my cell phone under the table without looking at it.

Back to matters at hand, I soothed, "Now Joshua, let's talk about this.  Just because I can't see a movie with you doesn't mean..."

"Yes, it does!" he shouted back, his hand jerking the pistol violently around for a moment.  As quickly as he exploded he once again grew calm and quiet, but sadly that psychotic sort of calm and quiet that had always made me wary of him.  Not wary enough, apparently.

His turbulent calm filled the room for minutes that felt like days until I made my move, "Look, Joshua, of all the guys on Dending Street, you're the last one I would have expected to have a gun."

"Why?  Cause you think I'm weak?  Cause I'm not weak, not weak, not..."  He trailed off and looked out the window.

"Looking at Mrs. Harris' rose bushes across the street," I ventured in an attempt to change the topic, "They're really lovely, must be over seven feet tall this year."

Joshua eyed me shrewdly, "What's behind your back?  Let me see your hand!  Now!"  He ordered with the force of a drill sergeant and bore down on me with the gun.

Phone tucked into my waist band, my hands raised up plaintively, "I was just trying to be non-threatening.  You know me, little Miss Cordelia Non-Threatening Kennit."

He didn't speak.  The time for talking seemed to have come to an end.  I could only hope I'd said enough.

The End

6 comments about this story Feed